


Between You and Me

by Fudgyokra



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Narcissism and Vague Humiliation Lol, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possession, Possibly Pre-Slash, Sexual Humor, This is weird, sort of??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9614993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: It’s been a while since Jack has had a body of his own to…take care of business with.





	

“God, she’s a babe,” Jack said, his projection hovering over Rhys’s shoulder to watch Sasha walk past. “Her sister’s not too shabby, either.” Rhys, who was mentally mapping out plans of action, did his best to ignore him, but as it stood, Jack was in a talkative mood. Moreso than usual. “You know who else is drop-dead gorgeous?” he continued, phasing himself right through Rhys’s chest.

Rhys watched Jack’s projected self twist around and pretend to lie on the coffee table at which he sat. “This is not really pertinent to our situation,” he finally answered, voice edging on a hiss. Luckily, no one heard him.

“That August guy. Talk about cheekbones, am I right?”

“Shut up,” Rhys whispered back, waving his arm through Jack’s intangible form as though it were possible to simply wipe him away. “I’m busy.” When Jack raised a challenging brow at him, he let the pretense go. “Okay, so I’m not. But I can’t just dick around and talk to thin air, you know.”

“Let’s go on the roof, then.”

“Vaughn’s up there scouting.”

“For what?” Jack asked in disbelief. “We’re in the middle of the goddamn desert.”

“I dunno. I think Fiona just gave him something to do to make him feel useful.”

When Rhys looked over his shoulder, the woman in question had just glanced in his direction. “Are you…talking to yourself?” she asked.

He tried not to look like a deer in headlights. “Just mapping out a plan in case of emergency!” He turned around and drew a breath. If the roof was off-limits, the only other place was the van’s bathroom, but even that was better than trying to explain to everyone why Handsome Jack was lodging in his brain, so he extricated himself from the main cabin as inconspicuously as he could manage. Nothing weird about using the john, right?

When he locked the door behind him Jack materialized again, leaning against the floor-length mirror that sat across from the toilet. Rhys wasn’t sure what the appeal was of staring directly at a reflection of yourself taking a dump, but it was Fiona and Sasha’s bathroom, not his.

“All right,” he began, keeping his voice low, “what do you need to talk about so badly?”

Jack’s response was a deep chuckle, and Rhys wasn’t sure what to make of that until his robot hand touched his chest of its own accord (well, of Jack’s accord) and slid down to the zipper of his jeans, where Rhys grabbed it with his free hand. “Woah! _What_ are you doing?” he asked, scandalized.

“Listen, cupcake,” Jack said fondly, “you have no idea what it’s like being a hologram, but let me fill you in. You get absolutely no alone time with yourself, because there’s no _self_ to be alone with.”

Rhys’s brain felt like it was short-circuiting, and this time it wasn’t a technical malfunction but a cognitive one. “Are you asking to…use my body?”

“It sounds weird when you put it like that.” Jack’s suggestively pleased expression did not indicate that he found it weird at all. “But yes, that’s what I’m asking. Just let me slide on in and have a little fun.”

Rhys couldn’t feel his pulse anymore. Had he died? Was he dead? “To…to…” When he struggled for the proper words, Jack had him covered.

“To take care of business. Jerk off. Wack it. You know, all that good stuff.” He sounded disarmingly casual about the situation, like he was asking to borrow a dollar or something equally mundane. Strangely, though, Rhys was having a hard time imagining turning him down.

“Don’t I have to be unconscious or something?”

“That would be a criminal offense, buddy,” Jack said.

Rhys narrowed his eyes at him. “I meant for you to control my body.”

“Nah, not unconscious. If you _let_ me move, then I can. You can stop me at any time since you’re the one in control, capisce? It’s like having two streams of consciousness at once, only mine is weaker.”

“What are you, an expert on this?”

“No, I’m just not an idiot.”

“Less inclined to help you now,” Rhys said airily, crossing his arms and cocking his hip. Truthfully, this was more of an appeal to Jack’s seriousness than anything. Maybe he was just fucking with him and he was supposed to bark yes like a dog so that Jack could laugh at him. He _was_ kind of a sicko.

“I’ll be real quick,” Jack said, tucking his chin in a bit to give him a look that might have been called sultry. Rhys tried not to think about it, but Jack saw the way his pupils grew infinitesimally and went in for the kill. “And _you_ get the added bonus of being along for the ride.”

“You know, this is totally weird and inappropriate, but…” Rhys attempted to look like the thought pained him, but in secret he was weirdly flattered. There was a possibility that Jack knew that, though. “I will consent to your creepy body-control kink.”

Jack’s hologram dissipated with a somewhat static-y praise of, “Atta boy,” and before Rhys could even take his next breath he could feel it being taken for him. God, this was weird, he thought. Taking backseat in your own body was one of many experiences he couldn’t say he’d thought he’d be having today. Or ever.

He allowed Jack to roll his head on his shoulders, curl and uncurl his fingers, take a deep breath of air. “Oh yeah,” he practically moaned, making Rhys involuntarily wrinkle his nose. “I miss this.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Rhys said to Jack (to himself?), “I kind of need this body.”

Jack was too busy using Rhys’s hands to rub his collar bones to answer, giving him a view of what it must be like to be Handsome Jack—stuck in someone else’s head, able to see and talk but not to move. Of course, Rhys could still move whenever he liked, so he supposed there was a bit of a difference.

“I’m liking the robot hand. It makes things kinda freaky,” the older man said after a moment of tracing circuits like they were veins. “I don’t imagine this thing’s very comfortable with the…ya know, the whole—”

“Yeah, I got it,” Rhys interrupted, feeling vaguely dumb for allowing Jack to do this. “What happened to being quick?”

“Well someone’s a little touchy when they’re anxious.” Jack splayed the robotic fingers across his chest and lowered his organic hand to his zipper. Without thinking, Rhys jerked his hand away again.

“Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. “Force of habit.”

“Hey,” Jack began, “just think of it like this: it’s _your_ hand on _your_ junk. Nothin’ weird about that, cupcake.”

Rhys fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Okay, okay, don’t make me think too hard about this.”

“A’course not. Wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty little head of yours.”

Gracious as he was, Rhys decided to ignore that.

After this interaction, it did not take Jack long to get handsy. Rhys expected some sort of hesitation, but in hindsight didn’t really know why since this _was_ Handsome Jack he was talking about. He felt his pants loosen as both button and zipper were undone in one strangely fluid motion, and then suddenly there was pressure on his crotch.

He drew a shaky breath as the hand moved to cup him through his boxers. He situated himself against the counter, feeling the edge dig into the small of his back, and steeled himself with his robotic hand as his flesh and blood one pulled his underwear just low enough to uncover the head of his cock. When he began brushing fingers along it, he wasn’t sure if it was him or Jack that hummed approvingly, but it came out in _his_ voice nonetheless.

He paused and turned to fish for lotion in the cabinet, coming away with a sizable bottle and chuckling at the good fortune. “Thank god for the ladies, am I right? They always got this shit lying around.” Seconds after that they were back in business, because if it’s one thing Jack did not do, it was waste time when it came to his own private satisfaction.

It was strange at first, the rhythm with which Jack worked. Sure, it was Rhys’s hand, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. Jack gripped a little tighter, moved a little slower. It was different than doing it himself.

“Oh _fuck_ yes.” When Jack cursed it came out like the equivalent of a satisfied sigh. He turned around and looked in the mirror as his hand kept working, facing Rhys with a reflection of his own face—mouth open, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. It struck him, then, that he really should feel embarrassed, but perhaps he was a little too narcissistic. Or, possibly, this was too much fun for him to care.

His reflection grinned at him. “Rhysie, baby, you look like a million bucks right now.”

If it hadn’t been said with his own voice, Rhys might have cum right there. He tried not to pay the words too much mind right now, but he knew that _that_ would have to be a topic for another day.

Jack turned him around and made a small noise of approval at something he must have just thought. Rhys, suddenly a little panicked, wondered if Jack could read his mind. But no—Jack had a different reason to be pleased; he approached the floor mirror and tilted it toward himself, giving them both a full-body view of Rhys looking, for the life of him, like he was falling apart from the contact. The embarrassment finally started to kick in.

Jack began moving his hand faster, training his gaze on the mirror and taking great delight in the way Rhys’s instinct to suck in a sharp breath overrode his control for a split second. The familiar knot in his stomach tightened. Jack paused to apply more lotion, and Rhys tried his damndest to ignore the sticky, wet sounds of flesh on flesh.

He got down on his knees in front of the mirror, close enough to where his panting breaths caused the glass to cloud, and watched himself being jerked off by the invisible force of his idol piloting his body. Through the rapidly-growing haze in his brain he barely felt his mouth move when Jack spoke, breathy and deep. “Bet you’re pretty used to being on your knees, huh?”

“You’re—” Rhys swallowed hard. “You’re the one who got down.”

“Yeah, but I like men who return the favor.”

“Technically I am.”

To this, Jack had no witty answer; it made Rhys feel momentarily proud, which was immediately ruined by way his hips jerked forward shamelessly, leaving a streak of precum on the mirror as evidence of the way his body reacted to Jack’s touch.

“Are you usually this quick or is it just me?” the older man teased, prompting the pink in Rhys’s face to darken.

“Very funny,” he breathed, aiming for a tone that expressed exactly how unfunny he found it and coming up more flustered and turned on.

“You let me do this,” Jack retorted.

“Shut up,” Rhys snapped, and he meant it.

“Maybe you wanted me to do this,” the other egged him on, slowing his hand down and making Rhys face his half-lidded reflection in the mirror again. “You can always stop me. Could have the whole time.”

“I know,” Rhys said, voice edging on a whine. “Just keep going, asshole.”

“Why don’t you?”

For the time being, Rhys ignored the welling humiliation and took over his body again, squeezing his eyes closed as though that could stop Jack from seeing him like this. “Fuck you,” he offered, as an afterthought.

Jack was quick on the draw. “Oh I am, sweetheart.”

Whether it was one or both of them, all Rhys could hear for a moment was the sound of his voice barely swallowing a groan, which could only be faintly heard past the blood rushing in his ears. He cracked one eye open in time to see himself dirty the mirror, staining the image of his panting, sweaty face with further proof of what had just transpired.

He slumped back against the counter, ignoring the uncomfortable shock of having his bare ass on the cold tile floor. Though it took a few seconds to perfect his image, Jack’s crackling manifestation finally appeared in front of him, looking him over with unabashed satisfaction. Rhys suddenly felt way more naked than he actually was and offered the other man a scowl.

“Was it good for you too?” Jack asked, grinning wickedly.

Rhys opened his mouth to respond, only to jump at the sound of someone banging on the door.

“Hey!” Fiona exclaimed loudly, “You’ve been in there forever. Hurry up!”

Jack crossed his arms and clicked his tongue. “You heard her, Rhysie. Better pull your pants up.”

Rhys didn’t humor him with a response and instead grabbed a wad of toilet paper to clean himself off. He tossed the mess away and zipped back up, finally finding the balls to look Jack in the face again. “Hey, uh, when you get out of here,” he began, gesturing toward his head, “this stays between you and me.”

Jack gave him a wink and disappeared.

Once he’d washed his hands and made his best effort to look presentable, he stepped out of the bathroom to allow Fiona inside and collapsed in the seat he’d been occupying earlier. He prayed that Jack would stay dormant for a while, because he _really_ needed time to recover from the situation before he melted with shame at the very idea that he’d allowed it. Maybe Jack would take pity on him and not tease about it later, but Rhys imagined that the probability of that happening was very, very low.

He heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, and seconds later Fiona exited, tossing a rag directly at his face.

“Hey!” he cried indignantly. “What was that for?”

Fiona, bless her heart, leaned close to him and kept her voice low to keep anyone else from hearing. “If you’re going to jerk off, at least wipe the cum off my mirror afterwards.”

Rhys paled. “Oh—oh shit, listen, I’m—”

Fiona held a hand up and grinned at him. “Keep that to yourself. I’d clean it up before someone less understanding gets a peek at that disaster.”

Rhys forced an awkward smile and watched as she turned and walked back toward the front of the van. _Fuck_ , he can’t believe he’d forgotten about the stupid mirror.

To his immense annoyance, Jack reappeared to follow him into the bathroom again, laughing like he’d just witnessed the funniest possible thing there was to witness. “So much for ‘between you and me,’ huh, buddy?” he said, offering his usual shit-eating grin.

“She doesn’t know about you,” Rhys replied tersely.

“That kind of makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

“Trust me, masturbating is way less embarrassing than getting a handjob from a ghost.”

“Hologram,” Jack corrected, inspecting his nails casually. “But hey, thanks for the favor.” He sounded suspiciously genuine here, so Rhys paused to examine his face.

“Hah…no problem,” he responded, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment hit him. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“Let’s not,” Jack agreed. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“You do that,” Rhys said quickly, watching Jack phase out of existence again. He turned toward the mirror and blew out a puff of air. Somehow this journey had not gone exactly how he’d anticipated it would, and yet, maybe in some respects, it turned out a little better than what he was expecting.

Maybe _._

At any rate, it made one hell of a story.


End file.
